


Letters to Leliana

by adventuresinastrangeworld



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-26
Updated: 2019-04-26
Packaged: 2020-02-04 17:05:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18608824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adventuresinastrangeworld/pseuds/adventuresinastrangeworld
Summary: Letters from Warden Aeducan to her lover, Leliana. Because I'm a big softie.Contains some love poetry.





	1. Chapter 1

As I set by the fire, absorbed in the crackling flames  
It was here love’s arrow took its aim  
Piercing deeply into my heart  
Even as our world falls apart  
I am lost each time your lips usher forth sighs  
And wonder what thoughts are turning behind your eyes

Your company, too me, as water or air  
My guiding light in this dark nightmare  
This warden’s duty I will see through  
My love, my heart, to save the world for you.

Let my lips praise you with each tender kiss  
Thanking the Stone for this fleeting bliss  
Let my ears hear your voice whisper my name  
All my heart is yours to claim  
Let my hands ever find a home in yours  
And in your love, feel assured

Stone, grant me my love one moment more  
Though battles ever beckon in this war   
So hold me, love, even though I’m leaving  
Warm my arms while I’m still breathing   
Tell me like it won’t be the very last time  
That I am yours, and you are mine

I love you, Leliana.


	2. Chapter 2

My dearest Leliana,

The night is quiet here in Vigil’s Keep. It is a strange change from the sounds of our old camp on the road. At some point during the blight, those tents became home. I miss the sound of Alistair vigorously stirring the stew like he’s in battle with it as he willfully attempts to misunderstand Zevran’s flirting (but not the actual stew), the quiet click of Wynne’s knitting needles, Shale’s sighs, Sten and the dog engaged in growling contests.

But most of all I miss you. I miss the steady sound of your breathing next to me in the tent when I wake from these cursed nightmares. I miss the way the wrinkles around the corners of your eyes crinkle when you laugh. I miss how your brow furrows when you’re deep in thought. I miss the way your hair lays wild around your head in the morning, and the sound of your voice cursing in Orlesian as you tame it. I miss the sharp edge to your voice when we argue, I miss the soft tones that warm the air when we make up, I miss your little gasp whenever you see something your find particularly cute or particularly beautiful.

I miss the mornings we would wake up early, laying in our bedrolls hording those stolen moments. Holding your hand and kissing every callous there. The the ones on each fingertip from your lute and the funny one on your ring finger from drawing your bow, the two on your palm from throwing knives, the one on your middle finger from holding a quill. I miss the sound of your laugh as my lips tickled your palm, and your groan when Sten inevitably heard we were awake and asked to spar.

I think I could not miss you more, but every morning means it has been even longer since I last saw you. Each day I find new depths to my want of you.

I love you, Leliana.  
Come visit soon.


End file.
